Cakewalk Into Town
by reflecting
Summary: Derek is a single werewolf who has a thing for a man in uniform and finds himself on an enthusiastic pursuit of newly transferred Officer Stiles Stilinski. It might've been a mistake to recruit the Hale 5 in this noble mission, but Stiles seems to find Derek's particular brand of dork endearing enough to not put up much of a fight. Smooth sailing as far Derek's concerned, right?


**Pairing: **Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (established relationship)

**Genre: **AU/AR, Romance, Humour, Fluff, PWP

**Tags: **No Hale Fire, OCs, Werewolves are out and proud, Officer!Stiles, Dork!Derek

**Notes: **Rating for safety of future chapters.

EDIT: Some typos corrected by the help of _**Hackthecatboy**_, thanks! /EDIT

(Title from the song with the same name as sung by Taj Mahal because I lack title-creativity and my playlist is my go-to place of "inspiration". Wopps.)

WHY. AM. I. DOING. THIS. TO MYSELF. So many WIPs, fuck.

Anyway, that said... I thought it was Derek's turn to be a bit of a dork waxing poetic about Stiles because Dylan O'Brian's face. Put that boy in a uniform and Derek's leather jacket can stand in line.

Eeerrr, anyway...

Hale OCs because I know very little of what's been released on Derek's family beyond the fact that Derek's mom is called Taila? Err, yeah.

So yeah have some angst-free fluffy ramblings a la Derek PoV.

Please excuse any typos and/or grammatical errors; English isn't my first language and I don't have a beta.

* * *

**.**

**CAKEWALK INTO TOWN**

**.**

**CH1: Three Meets**

**.**

The first time Derek meets Officer Stilinski he nearly chokes on a deep gulp of coke, only narrowly avoiding an agonizing fountain situation via nose by painfully swallowing the fizzy drink, subsequently coughing a lung up in a humble sacrifice. It causes a few heads to turn, including the officer that had just entered the diner, momentarily frozen in the middle of taking his hat off and running a hand through rumpled hair looking unfairly gorgeous in what should, by all rights, be a fairly standard police uniform. Derek's pretty sure it's one size too small, though, because surely the police department wasn't low enough on money to start dressing their officers in discarded strippogram outfits.

He's jolted out of his daze by a warm, steady hand resting on his shoulder and suddenly his vision is full of messy brown hair, concerned fox-eyes and a ridiculous spattering of moles and freckles that shouldn't be as endearing as it is on a face that attractive. Jesus.

"Are you all right, mister?" the Officer enquires, frowning. Derek takes his first raspy-free breath and nods, fighting down a mortified blush that's got his ears _burning_, and risks a quick glance around to confirm, yes, he's got most of the diner's attention by now. Wonderful.

"Yeah," he replies with a discomfited clearing of his throat, trying not to move too much because he's still got that hand on his shoulder and it feels nice, okay, no one can judge him. He nearly lost a lung after all, he's entitled. "Thanks, officer, I'm fine."

The Officer's lips (-_don't stare, Derek, don't stare-_) quirk in a lopsided grin that almost has Derek's breath catching before he squeezes Derek's shoulder and it _actually_ catches, damn it. Weren't police officers supposed to be power-tripping assholes that liked to lord their superiority over your head and generally throw the word of the law around until you tripped and ended up a night in jail with a hefty fine, not knowing how you got there?

Derek might be biased, but Officer Argent Jr. (now Sheriff, fuck his life, seriously, but Derek's not dropping the Jr. so Sheriff Jr. it is, all the time, any time) had made it his goal in life to ruin Derek's faith in any kind of law enforcing authority since he was eleven and was caught trespassing while _retrieving his baseball_, seriously. It seems like the dick has some good taste in new recruits, though, because Derek's not seen this piece of strapping youth around and he's pretty familiar with Beacon Hills PD again by now (though not by choice) and Beacon Hills in particular is not an overly large town. His family is established enough to have a slightly unnervingly efficient network of gossip, seemingly on speed dial to one Mrs. Taila Hale, head honcho and resident Alpha, who started making noises about any edible, red-blooded human-or-werewolf coming through town after she'd run out of local options to pair her son with since his second return from Stanford last year as single as when he'd left the first time twelve years prior. Bad break-ups sucks, okay, and Derek could freelance as well in Beacon Hills as he could in Stanford with a decent Wi-Fi so fuck Monica and her apartment that reeked of burnt popcorn _all the time_.

It's possible Derek's been staring for a while by now because the Officer has let go of his shoulder and his fidgeting slightly with his hat, nodding once Derek re-focused to meet his eyes. He looks ready to leave, and Derek maybe panics a little, because there's a tantalizing smell lingering in the air and he _knows_ that's the Officer's, and it's nothing like burnt popcorn at all.

"You're new," he blurts out, biting his tongue hard enough to taste blood before it heals. He'll take socially awkward for 1000, please. Squirming at the Officer's startled look, eyebrows raised and all, Derek clears his throat before clarifying. "In town, I mean."

The officer nods, the same crooked smile from before stretching his lips _(-seriously Derek, stop fixating, damn it-_). "How did you-? Ah, small town, right, I got to get used to that I guess. I'm Stilinski, though everyone calls me Stiles." He's offering Derek his hand, smile widening as Derek takes it for a firm shake (Derek tries, but fails, not to notice the calluses typical on humans working a lot with their hands, a stark contrast to his ever-healing, smooth skin).

"What, no first name?" Derek grins, finally finding his footing because his 30 fucking years old and flirting he knows how to do, no matter how blindsided by a pretty face and compelling scent he may initially be. "I'm Derek Hale."

Officer Stilinski – Stiles, Derek notes privately with a satisfied growl – laughs and Derek stares shamelessly because fuck it, he's not the only one who've been eying this man in uniform. There can be no judging, okay. "You wouldn't know what to do with my actual name, trust me, Mr. Hale. If my dad wasn't such a sadistic bastard it'd been legally wiped from existence years ago."

Stilinski's sliding into the seat opposite of Derek's in the booth without being prompted, seemingly catching on to Derek's desire to hold an actual conversation. Derek _really_ doesn't mind, especially not as the movement causes a whip of air to carry over the Officer's scent. It's all wet asphalt, the air after rain and something fresh and sweet he can't identify but which reminds him of the first bite out of a peach.

"Just Derek's fine," he replies after a moment, still smiling as he forces himself to relax and stop sniffing the air like a pup barely out of its fur. "And that just makes me more inclined to find out what it is, Officer Stilinski."

Stilinski shakes his head, bemused. "If it's Derek then it's Stiles to you," he says, pausing before titling his head with a smirk. "Off duty, at least."

That, Derek thinks, he can do. Could he ever. In many different ways and positions and—popping a boner like a teenager could possibly be more than awkward in this situation, Derek acknowledges as he fights down a blush even as he suspects it's a failure.

"You off duty now?", he asks to keep his mind off of inappropriate things like cuffing an officer of the law to his bed and fucking him into his mattress while leaving stubble burn and bite marks on miles of pale skin. Right, inappropriate. Focus.

"That depends on how you define off duty," Stilinski hedges with a shrug, "I'm on my lunch break though, and the Sheriff isn't around to loom menacingly and bark orders in my ear."

Derek snorts, because yeah, that sounds like Sheriff Jr. all right.

"Seriously though, Derek," _Stiles_ continues, seemingly gaining confidence at Derek's reaction. "Dude, your Sheriff, has he always been so…" He trails off, gesturing with his hands in an adorably flail-y manner that would alarm Derek had he been sitting any closer (which he wasn't, which was sad, because hello convenient excuse to trap those hands in his own).

"…creepily condescending and overly controlling while managing to be an asshole about _everything?_" Derek fills in for Stiles helpfully, causing the younger man to actually throw his head back and laugh in startled delight. Derek puffs his chest out and preens, because as the socially awkward Hale he's usually the one people laugh _at _rather than _with_. His mother despairs, blaming his father who can only shrug helplessly because he hates the couch in their house with a fiery passion that apparently rivals his love for his only sane offspring. By which he means himself, not Laura and certainly not Sammie or, God forbid, _Lucy_.

"Oh my God," Stiles gasps after a while, eyes wide and a bit frantic as he looks around as if to see if someone overheard, but his lips (-_stop it, oh my god_-) are stretched in a delighted smile still so Derek's not overly worried. He thinks people are more interested in the way Stiles' uniform stretches across his lean chest and how much his hair screams I-got-fucked-_goooood_ than what he's saying about Sheriff Jr. "I thought it was just me! Being new and all, and a transfer from NYPD to boot. I thought it was just hyperbole about hating on the big cities, man, but some of you small town folk take that to seriously scary levels."

Derek grins, because yes, he wants Stiles to tell him _everything_ and a transfer from NYPD? There's bound to be a story there. "Nah, Sheriff Jr.'s just a raging dick. I'd say try to stay on his good side, because the man holds grudges like no one's business, but I don't think he _has_ a good side."

"Sounds like you're talking from personal experience, Derek," Stiles replies, reaching out for a menu. Right, lunch break. "And Sheriff Jr.? What's that about?"

"His sister wanted to date me. She was persistent. I filed a restraining order." Derek shrugs at Stiles' startled look, smirking as he shakes his head at him before he continues. "His dad was Sheriff before him and an even more raging asshole. But anyway, he's always been Argent Jr. and he hates it. So I'm never going to drop the Jr., ever." He doesn't mention how the senior Argent had gone from slightly sadistically manic to full-out insane nine years ago after being diagnosed with cancer, kidnapping two of the young bitten wolves in the Hale pack to blackmail the Alpha into giving him the bite. Talia Hale had not been impressed and after that shitstorm, Kate Argent already a black dot in the family line, Chris Argent had taken one huge step away from his father and basically cut him off and locked him up himself. No one pressed charges on the bruised state the old man ended up in after Talia had handled him before the arrest, and after a few months, it hadn't mattered anyway as the old bag of dicks died a hopefully painful death (Derek can hold grudges too).

Stiles' laughing even as he scans the menu, licking his lips and being generally distracting with his _everything_. "I think you've ruined my career as a small town cop here because I swear to God, I'm going to slip up with the Jr. and there'll be no one but you to blame when he fires me. So much for staying out of trouble."

"I recommend the cheese and bacon burger, with the chili fries," Derek says when Stiles pauses to frown at the menu in his hands, as if indecisive, and receives a grateful smile for his efforts that makes him hope it's going to be the best burger Stiles has ever had. Margaret better pull out all the stops in the kitchen, but from the way Sally's been eying Stiles since he stepped inside and is getting ready to come over to take his order by fluffing her hair and righting her bra, that's not going to be a problem. There's a cop discount at this place even if Stiles' got eyes more amber than brown, wide in a pretty face that resembles a fox with the upturned nose, slanted eyes and sharp smile.

"Not going to apologize for potentially getting me fired in the near future?" Stiles quips, to which Derek shrugs and tries not to scowl as Sally slides up to them with a flirtatious smile for them both, though her eyes lingers on Stiles. Derek can't blame her but he's got dibs, okay, there must be some sort of rule against this in the mess that is social interactions. Right? He'd ask his sisters if that wasn't suicidal for his dignity. Well, what little dignity he had left from being the only son of Taila Hale. So many princesses and ribbons in his childhood, seriously. Not to mention the synchronized hell that was the _other_ time of the month, with all it entailed (hot bottles, pads, tampons and chocolate at all hours with the general lack of privacy that comes with being a werewolf. He envies his dad's job that allows him to take suspiciously convenient business trips out of state _every time_).

"What can I get you, Officer?" Sally interrupts Derek's mental tangent, smiling. Stiles looks up and recites his order, going for Derek's recommendation which makes him smile smugly, and the blonde waitress' chirp "Coming right up!" isn't as annoying as it could be.

"So, Derek. Anything else I should know about Beacon Hills? I just got here yesterday; I'm in dire need of some inside information. You up for being my local informant?" Stiles grins and Derek grabs at this opportunity with greedy fingers because _yes, any fucking time, now give me your number_.

"Sure thing, Officer," he replies, trying not to sound too eager as he leans forward to lean his elbows against the table, eying Stiles up where he's sitting biting his lip in a failed attempt to rein in his smile. "What do you want to know?"

Derek's never been so grateful to being subjected to his mother's and sisters' need to know everything about everyone and then subjecting him and his dad to it whether they'd like it or not. The well of information he's got to offer Stiles lends him an opportunity to scrabble his number down on a napkin when Stiles excuses himself, sounding genuinely reluctant, at the end of his lunch break.

"There's more where that came from," Derek says as he finishes off his number with a flourish, trying not to be too obvious about how nervous he really is as he offers the napkin (clean, thankfully, he hadn't thought to check before – stupid). He holds it out for Stiles to take it with a lopsided smile of his own. "In case there are any pressing questions," he offers at Stiles' surprised look, feeling himself blush but ignoring it because Stiles seems pleased and Derek hasn't been this excited in a _long_ time.

"Will do, Mr. Hale," he grins, tucking the napkin into his breast pocket before getting up and putting his hat on, getting ready to leave. "Thanks for an interesting lunch; it was like my private welcoming wagon. Be careful with drinks now though, wouldn't do to have you choke to death before I can make use of you."

Derek almost chokes again, because yeah, if there's someone who can _make use of_ him it's this man. Before he can reply, Stiles leaves with a mock salute and flighty grin that has Derek leaning over and stretching his neck to catch a last glimpse through the window because obviously he's 16 again, when he'd discovered not even Argent Jr. could make his boner for men in uniform go away, for all that his shit attitude made him about as attractive as the blue cheese he always reeked of like he ate it in buck loads.

Taking out his phone, Derek starts to frantically text, cursing the invention of touch screens because what the fuck is wrong with buttons, seriously, and manages to somewhat convey the urgency and importance of what he's asking.

**[To: Laura, Sammie, LSD (not funny derek)]  
**_I need everything you've got on Officer Stiles Stilinski. NOW._

As his phone goes wild moments after he's hit send, Derek feels secure in the knowledge that he'll have the infamous Hale 5 on mission Secure Stiles' Affections (a.k.a. Get Derek Laid Regularly In The Foreseeable Future) as soon as his mom and uncle Peter find out to join forces with his sisters. Which they will, because apparently at 30 it's embarrassing to be single and living in a flat he rarely cleans. Derek's willing to endure this if only to not fail spectacularly at this because flirting he can do, but relationships? Not so much.

Preening at the dirty look Sally shoots him as he leaves (Stiles hadn't pocketed HER number, hah!), Derek sorts through the spam of texts for anything useful as he tries to plan on the next step. Laura's suggesting to wait for Stiles to make use of the number, which is the most sensible suggestion but has Derek grumbling because he'd rather sniff Stiles out and 'accidentally' bump into him, say, this afternoon. Sammie reminds him not to show his stalkerish tendencies until he's put out enough to make it worth it (Derek resents that, trying not to focus on the disturbing implication that his little sister knows enough about his sex life to make a statement like that), while Lucy's demanding details which he's not providing because she might get it into her head to compete for Stiles' affections, since she's a meddling little shithead that likes to fuck with his mind.

He settles for Laura's advice because he always forgets how useless his sisters are until he's made the mistake of seeking their assistance again. It's a vicious cycle his mom likes to compare to giving birth once only to forget the agony to repeat it three more times. His dad stays clear of the room whenever this gets mentioned because according to him, he'd broken enough bones in his hands and he's certainly not forgotten the agony of _that_. In any case, Derek resolves not to check his phone every few minutes hoping for a text or a call because he's not _that _pathetic.

He manfully refrains and manages a whole five minutes before he caves.

* * *

The second time Derek meets Officer Stiles Stilinski it is two days and several sporadic text messages after their first meeting at the diner. Derek's shopping for the upcoming week at the microwaveable foods aisle and it's almost 9pm. The grocery store is mostly empty apart from some high school punks with armfuls of red bull and candy bars eying his six pack of Bud with intent. They scurry off in a hurry when Stiles comes into view, fully uniformed and gorgeous looking frantically disheveled, much to Derek's relief. He's not sure if it's the leather jacket, the stubble, or both, that apparently gives off the vibes of 'I'm-the-kind-of-guy-who'll-buy-underaged-idiots-a lcohol-and-drugs'. In any case, it's an overall welcome distraction from his depressing shopping which he can only get away with at this time of night lest his mom finds out and makes family dinner compulsory every night again, breakfast and lunch too if she sees the amount of hot pockets he's hoarding in the freezer. He's just barely managed to convince her to make it weekends only ever since he came back to town and he's not ready to go down that path again.

"Officer," Derek greets, raising a brow as Stiles startles and makes an aborted movement to where he keeps his gun. Perhaps not the wisest move to startle the trained police officer with a gun, Derek notes as Stiles smiles apologetically.

"Derek, hey," Stiles says as he comes up to him, stopping to stand next to him where he's clutching a packet of premade meatballs with potatoes and sauce trying not to fidget and be too obvious in the way he's breathing in deep through his nose to catch the younger man's scent. "Sorry about that, you caught me just getting off my shift. I haven't had much time to sleep since I got here so I'm a bit, eh, wired from the shi—err, stuff, they call coffee at the station."

Derek grimaces because he's had a few cups of that sludge over the years, courtesy of whatever officer took pity on him after being pulled in by Argent Jr., and it's more pure caffeine than actual coffee. Even to his werewolf metabolism it's almost like getting hit by a brick of adrenaline in the face. The jittery mess Stiles is makes a lot more sense now.

"Anyway, I see you're a man of my own stomach!", he exclaims, suddenly ripping the packet Derek's been holding on to out of his hands to – actually, he has no idea. Inspect it? Claim it for himself? "Benefit of being so far away from New York; dad can't pull that face and guilt trip me into allowing him to live off of red meat only. Mm, meatballs. Man. And it's on a special? Two for one? Man, awesome, I'd resigned myself to curly fries but yes, so much yes to actual food."

If this shit qualifies for real food by Stiles' definition (Stiles has a lot of definitions, Derek knows now, for a lot of things), then Derek's not sure he wants to find out what he thinks_ isn't_ actual food.

"Shi—I mean, shoot, I totally forgot a shopping basket. Can I dump these in yours?", he continues, speaking rapid fast in a way Derek finds himself struggling to keep up with. Stiles' is already dumping several premade dinners to join Derek's before he's done nodding but he doesn't mind, simply tries not to let show how very much he doesn't mind at all. "Great, I just need some milk then I'm good to go. You?"

Stiles looks up expectantly at Derek, and for a few moments Derek's just meeting his eyes and wondering at the shade of beta gold before the words catches up with him and he realizes he's supposed to reply. Shaking his head minutely, Derek clears his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, uh, I'm set. Milk then?"

Stiles slaps his hands together in a loud clap that has Derek jerking in surprise. "Right! I think it took me about 10 minutes to find my way to this aisle so you'll have to lead on, Skipper, because I have no fuc—_freaking_ clue how to navigate this place yet and I'm way too wired to do anything to wander around in circles. Why are grocery stores built like mazes? Seriously. I need lessons in grocery shopping, it should be a thing, the store offering an orientation for all the helpless new costumers."

Finding himself helplessly charmed by the way Stiles is babbling away and dragging Derek in the opposite of the right direction to the dairy products, despite requesting Derek to do the dragging, he's impressed by how much can actually be said in one breath. When Stiles finally pauses, stopping to look around in confusion as they reach the end of the aisle, Derek interjects. "The milk's the other way."

Blinking, Stiles looks at him blankly for a moment before huffing in impatience. "Then why'd we go this way! C'mon!" Pushing and nudging him until Derek's turned around and marching the right way, Stiles starts humming along with the low music playing in the background. Derek's feeling a bit blindsided; though he's used to increasingly weird texts from Stiles as a day grows later, this is the first time he's encountered Stiles face to face since the diner and he's not sure how to handle this side of him. Derek's not used to being pushed around and treated so familiarly by anyone but pack and friends, least of all when it's an almost-stranger he's known for a mere two days.

"So you've worked the whole weekend then?" Derek comments when it becomes apparent Stiles isn't going to offer anything else but the occasional off key hum and muttered commentaries of the questionable logistics of grocery store layouts. Because his patience is subpar when it comes to things like this, Derek adds, "When are you off duty, exactly?"

"Never," Stiles grumbles before sighing in relief as they reach the milk, snagging a carton not bothering to stop, just zoning in on the way back to the cashier. Derek tugs him to the left and sets him on the right track. "Sheriff Jr. doesn't seem to think he can afford putting me on traffic duty but apparently he's not above using the new guy card to shuffle off the most hours he can get away with on me. I get tomorrow off, but that's apparently my week's quota because my next one isn't until Sunday the week _after_ that. Geezus."

Derek mentally clears his schedule tomorrow and next Sunday. "That's sounds harsh," he offers, hoping to come across sympathetic rather than selfishly disappointed there aren't more free days to convince Stiles to meet him on. "What are your plans then?" Subtle, Derek is not. Wincing at Stiles' puzzled look, he tries to adopt an air of nonchalance rather than vibrate n excitement. He'll leave this bit out when he reports back to Hale 5, even if they'll somehow sniff it out in the end anyway, but Derek remains hopeful. He has to, or he'll be crushed by inevitable despair at his absolute lack of private _anything_.

"Uh, sleep, mostly. I've been stuck going over old case files ever since I got here so I haven't had much time getting to know the town though, so I'll probably go out for a drive. Why?"

Derek shrugs, mentally falling down to his knees crying the battle cry of the victorious as he shakes fists at the sky, because Stiles just keeps handing him these opportunities on a golden platter and he doesn't even seem to be aware he's doing it. The thought of him doing this to others dampens his mood a bit but he simply resolves to make sure he snags him first. Dibs, totally called it.

"I could show you around," he offers. "As your informant, I feel it's my duty." He grins in a try to show how very much he _does not_ consider it a duty, at least not one he doesn't want to fulfill with pleasure. Stiles' heart stutters and Derek's preening, because he did that, and then Stiles' smiling back at him helplessly and yepp, Derek's got this, he totally does.

"Lifesaver," Stiles sighs, nudging Derek in the ribs with his elbow. By now they've reached the bored cashier who's on the wrong side of fifty to be eying them the way she is. Derek contemplates paying for Stiles' stuff too but a small voice in his head that sound annoyingly like Sammie hisses, '_creeper_', so he refrains.

They part ways in the parking lot with a date set (it's totally a date, okay) for tomorrow. Derek managed to suggest sharing lunch without getting shot down or side-eyed, and got a pleased little smile that did_ things_ to him when he suggested coming by Stiles' place to pick him up. By the time he got home Derek was distracted enough to not notice he wasn't alone until three horrors attacked him and demanded details on threat of showing his shopping to their mother.

_Sisters_. Urgh.

* * *

The third time Derek meets Stiles, he's in a full blown sulk that only lets up when he sees Stiles waiting for him by the sidewalk. At Stiles' wave, his smile turns slightly dopey and he forgets about the hell in the backseat until Stiles catches sight of it and falters. Damn it.

Pulling up, Derek rolled down the window and pushed his shades up to rest on the top of his head. "Hey, Stiles," he greets, ignoring the vibrating demons in the back. Stiles eyes them with interest though, making Derek sigh as the repeated thumping of Lucy kicking the back of his seat hard enough to make him sway slightly becomes truly impossible to ignore any longer without Stiles' focus on him distracting him. "My sisters _insisted_," he explains, shooting a glare at three beaming faces behind him, squished together to get a full view of Stiles, "they needed a ride. Sorry."

Lucy's bouncing in her seat, Sammie twirling a lock of hair around a finger and popping a piece of gum while Laura's grinning widely.

"Peter would've come too if it didn't mean Stiles wouldn't have a place to sit," Laura points out, causing Derek to groan. Sammie smirks as she adds, "He would've come anyway, he would've just offered his lap. I kicked him in the shins. You're welcome."

Stiles fidgets where he stands, huffing a laugh. "Err, thanks? Also, hi! I'm, uh, Stiles, as you seem to know. Nice to meet you?"

"They don't have any manners. I maintain I'm adopted. You can get in, I'll introduce you," Derek offers, resigned as Lucy cackles. Stiles just grins, shrugging, before he walks around to slide into the passenger seat after Derek pushed open the door on his way over. "The sooner we get going the sooner we'll be rid of them."

"Rude," Sammie mutters, Lucy chiming in with a yell and a hard kick against the seat. Derek winces, feeling it jar his spine, but simply waits for Stiles to fasten his seatbelt before pulling out and steering off towards the mall. His leather seats were doomed the day his sisters first laid eyes on the car when he came rolling back into town last year. He'd conveniently forgotten the lack of respect they had of anything on wheels. Or just anything of Derek's, in general.

"Stiles, meet hellspawn 1, 2 and 3," he begins, gesturing with his thumb behind him as he rattles their names. "Lucy, Sammie and Laura. High schooler, college student and lawyer."

Nodding at them in turn, Stiles smiles warm and friendly. Derek is not jealous of his sisters, he's not. "So, where are you guys going?"

And thus opens the floodgate of doom. By the time he's managed to growl his sisters out of the car he's deeply impressed by how Stiles withstood the questions of all things Stiles and surge of information concerning all things Hale. "You've got to teach me that, whatever you did back there, because I've tried to make it out with my sanity intact my whole life and I fail _every time_," Derek says, a bit wild-eyed as they leave the mall. Stiles laughs.

"My dad's an FBI agent, my mum was a cop, and I'm a trained officer myself," he smirks. "I've had worse, and led harsher interrogations."

Derek makes a sound of disbelief that has Stiles breaking into laughter again, and Derek's pleased enough with himself to feel better about his sisters' unique brand of caring. He has to remind himself at least twice a day he actually enlisted their help, against every single incident in his past suggesting he should've anything but. Vicious circle; it gets him every time. From the way things are turning out though, he doesn't think he needs any help, good or bad, which would be a fucking first. His looks can only get him so far before the dork in him shows. Luckily his seems to be a brand of dork Stiles _gets_, because he's lost count on how many lame attempts at flirting he's done, and Stiles is still here. So. Well, he's hopeful.

They return to the same diner they met and Stiles takes the same order, smiling when he confesses to Derek it's one of the best burger he's had in forever. Derek doesn't even care when Stiles' laughs at his smug expression, too busy mentally patting himself on the back while enjoying the scent of Stiles being all _happy _at him.

Life is good.

.

.


End file.
